Need
by It-was-so-human
Summary: When it came to a hierarchy of needs, Katniss spent most of her life focusing on the very baseline for her family's survival. Unlike Peeta, she couldn't afford to contemplate nonsense like self-actualization and love. But now, now things were different.


Yikes, the last time I wrote fanfiction I barely qualified as a teenager. I'm scared and I'm not convinced I even know how to write _tenses _anymore, but gosh Katniss and Peeta are everything. I have so many feelings and plots running through my head so I thought I would start with a sloppy growing-back-together story. (What's more standard than that?) It's nothing revolutionary—it might even be a touch derivative, but_ hey I wrote words down_!

It's also an awesome excuse to ask for some help. I've been struggling through tons of stories—specifically an angsty two-part au modern take on hijacked Peeta and could really use a **_beta or pre-reader_**. Do you have some experience? Some time? Any interest? Let's be friends!

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><p>Katniss wakes when the sun has barely risen, slowly untangling herself from Peeta.<p>

She needs to hunt today. For Sae. For trading. For her sanity.

But when she looks back, at him—his hair rumpled so _frustratingly_ and his face so peaceful that he looks as young as he really should—her resolve weakens.

She supposes the squirrels could wait.

Katniss falls back into bed and still asleep he reflexively reaches for her until she is enveloped in his arms.

She sighs. There is no escape now.

She burrows her head into his chest, drifting back to a warm and dreamless sleep.

...

Katniss was always used to sharing a bed with Prim and Peeta grew up in the same room as his brothers.

And because maybe they would always really just be two broken burnt children from the poorest outlying district, their lives and houses felt too big for them.

Her home in the Seam was cramped and often damp but she always found comfort in its small confined corners. The Victor's Village was too big, but it was easy enough for them to fold one another into the empty spaces.

First at night to ward off the nightmares.

Then slowly throughout the waking hours.

She walks in through the kitchen door dirty, foul, and carrying a bag full of freshly skinned game.

He looks up at her from the counter, a bright smile that's so boyishly charming her heart clenches.

Suddenly her hand reaches to fix her braid, a failed attempt to quickly tuck loose sprawling hair back into place.

Which is a silly notion, one she recognizes a moment too late—he's seen her half crazed, battle weary, and nearly starved.

Her face flushes when he catches her eyes and she looks away quickly mumbling about going-upstairs-to-take-a-shower-and-is-he-just-living-here-now?

She grabs for a cheese bun from the oven, frowning animatedly as he swats her hand away.

"Hey, they're still undercooked," he scolds. "Always so impatient."

Sometimes he says things sting slightly. Hunger, even if it's of the more indulgent craving-variety is difficult for her. Food has always been a sensitive subject, and she's not sure if that'll ever stop being the case.

He shifts through containers on the shelf where he keeps the extra baked goods for the laborers rebuilding 12 to take home or cookies to give out to the handful of kids who have moved to the barren district. (Because that's who Peeta is.)

He finds the one he was looking for and pops the lid open before offering it to her.

"Cheese buns from the other day? I don't know these escaped you and I know you like them fresh, as you should—"

He nods in agreement at her refusal, instead picking one up and taking a big bite himself.

"Ahhh, a touch stale. It tastes just like childhood," he laughs.

She shakes her head, trying to ward of the sadness that licks inside.

He walks towards her and she notices golden crumbs scattered across his lips, stopping to slowly run a thumb over her cheekbones and she flutters her eyes closed and—

The oven slams as he moves to open it, panning out fresh cheese bun and presenting one to her.

She takes a bite of a steaming gooey stupid treat that Peeta insists on making for her, more of a staple than even tesserae bread ever was.

(The first time he tried after returning from the Capitol she found him rocking on his kitchen floor late at night, muttering to himself again and again that he "can't remember, how, _how_ can I not remember something you love? I used to remember everything about you."

But he like so much else, he eventually pieced it together. For himself. And for her.)

"Good?" he asks.

"Gdhmp," she confirms.

...

"Well, as long as it makes them happy," she shrugs dismissing at his insistence that Effie was sending Haymitch secret love letters via advice on raising geese.

She watches in awe as his hands move deftly, those large calloused hands that are able to so intricately layer the colors of their feathers on the page making even silly geese feathers look _beautiful_.

She wonders if he could make even her patchwork skin seem beautiful.

She doubts it.

He raises and eyebrow, and she struggles out the words.

"Well, I suppose there's someone for everyone," she grumbles.

"See I knew you were secretly a romantic at heart, Katniss Everdeen. Who knows what sappy thoughts you have hidden under that facade of yours," he teases nudging her.

His grin is so endearing that her face burns.

"Rest assured none about you at least," she scoffs.

His smile is unwavering but his bright blue eyes sheen with only the slightest hint of sadness.

"Oh no, I don't have the audacity to imagine I'd be that lucky," he chuckles.

For such a smart clever boy who managed to manipulate the Games, he really can be quite stupid sometimes.

...

Today is a bad day.

As soon as her eyes opened, her thoughts were spiraling to Prim and bombs going off in Districts and mutts and the faces of dead children—

And her body was unable to physically will itself to move out of bed.

She hears a quiet knock on the door and Peeta's head, his silly rumpled head pops in.

"Oh Katniss," he sighs softly.

He comes in and kneels by her bed, his hand—his large, warm, and comforting hand—smoothing back her hair.

"Do you want me to stay with you, or should I go?"

The dull pain echoes inside of her.

She doesn't want to hurt him. She _never _wants to see him hurt ever again.

That's why it's for the best.

"I'm all alone. Everyone's gone You should go too," she croaks. "Just _leave me_."

"Okay, I'll leave Katniss," he agrees pressing a firm kiss on top of her head. "But, you know I'm here. Always. You're never really alone."

...

She bangs on his front door, panicked that he's no answering.

It's early enough in the day that he should be awake but not so late that he could be making any deliveries.

She's throwing herself at the door now. _What did she say yesterday? Is he still mad? _Her incessant thuds shake the wooden frame.

When he finally opens the door, she's so utterly _relieved_ she wraps her arms around him.

"Now's not a good time, Katniss," he says tensely.

"I didn't mean that yesterday. You know I didn't-"

Then she notices it, the clenching of his jaw, how stiff his arms have gone.

"Please leave now," he repeats as he yanks her arms away and firmly pushes her from him.

"No, Peeta. I want to help-" but before she can continues he slams the door shut.

She still tries to wrench the knob open and pounds at the divide trying to remove the space between them.

...

That night he crawls into bed after she's been restlessly sleeping for hours, jostled awake by his weight.

She sits up and reaches for him. He grasps her hand in between his tightly, bringing it to his lips and feathering it with kisses.

"I'm sorry Katniss," he whispers. "I should have realized seeing you would be a trigger when I open the door."

He doesn't let go of her hand, instead he continues to cradle it and caress it back and forth it with his thumb.

"We can get through it together. You have to let me learn to help you," she frowns.

"No, I could never hurt you Katniss. Never again, I couldn't live with that."

Words were never her forte, but this is Peeta.

"I wanted to ask you didn't just leave me completely. Go to another District and start over. But it was hard for me to even leave your door. I couldn't... Is it the same for you?"

"Something like that," he let's out a choked laugh.

"You can't hide it from us, and I promise… I'll try not to either."

"Is there…" he swallows thickly. "Is there an _us_, Katniss?"

What silly question her boy asks sometimes.

"There's been an us since the first Games, Peeta," she asserts.

"Right, of course," he nods into her hair pulling her closer to him.

He eventually drifts off. But she can't sleep.

Of course there's an _us_.

He still wants that too, right? He still wants her?

She couldn't manag—no survive without the boy with the bread.

He does know that, doesn't he? He _must_ know that.

(It was a need she was ready to admit.

To herself.

To him. )

...

She plaits her hair neatly in a braid, puts on a clean dress—not a Capitol creation but something purely District 12 she found in her mother's closet.

She walked downstairs, nervously—realizing how little a scarred, damaged Seam girl could offer a Merchant boy.

He looks at her strangely as he finishes preparing dinner, but shakes his head as if deciding not to comment.

He ladles stew into a bowls while she sets the table, hands shaking.

When he's right behind her, as if heat is radiating from his body, she can't take it anymore.

She spins around, to face him, closing the space between them until she's only a breath away from Peeta.

She raises herself on her toes.

She can hear his heartbeat speed up.

She's denied herself months of Peeta when he first came back to 12. Grief surrounding her, weighing down heavier than the air entering her lungs. So scared, scared of losing him again and everything and herself and trying to scrape together the bare minimum pieces of sanity and not daring to hope for anything more...

But with so much death and destruction behind them and a life stretching out ahead so far she can't even squint and see the edges of it—

She won't waste another second.

"Katniss—you don't have to do this," he gasps. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Stop it," she demands.

They've done this so many times before—in the Games, for the Tour, as she tried to take him back from the edge of madness—she hardly expected any novelty.

But oh there was.

It was still Peeta. Her sweet Peeta, and the familiar sweet anchoring boy—no, _man_—she adored so much. But as the gentlest of touches of their lips rushed to something far faster than she predicted.

But the thrill and heady need for more was exhilarating and they were both quickly wrapped up in as his lips slant over hers. His hands in her hair, hers clawing at his broad shoulders.

He was the first to pull away, a small questioning smile on his lips.

"Yes Peeta, of course there's an _us_," she huffed pushing away from him completely to finish setting the table. "Now shut up and eat your stew."

He doesn't listen to her. And because Peeta's comprehension skills are questionable at best, instead he grabs her by the waist, looking at her adoringly.

"Anything you say Katniss. Anything, _anything_."

And his lips were on hers again, and she supposes she'll let it slide that he didn't _actually _do what she asked him to just this once.

* * *

><p>Gosh, I don't know what I'm doing. Happy Thanksgiving to any American readers! I would be so <em>grateful<em> for any feedback! (Please excuse the mistakes, I'll totes edit very soon! I was just so _tired_ of reading it.)

I'm it-was-so-human on tumblr if you'd like to obsess together!


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